"
"Oh, Peter, dear," she shook her head almost gaily at him. "It's too late."
"Too late?"
"Yes, I'm dying--at last it's come, after all these years when I've wanted
it so much. But now I'm not sorry--now that we've had this talk--at last.
Oh! Peter dear, I've wanted you so dreadfully and I was never strong enough
to say that you must come ... and they said that you were noisy and it
would be bad for me. But I believe if you had come earlier I might have
lived."
"But you mustn't die--you mustn't die--I'll see that they have another
doctor from Truro. This silly old fool here doesn't know what he's
about--I'll go myself."
"Oh! how strong your hands are, Peter! How splendidly strong! No, no one
can do anything now. But oh! I am happy at last..." She stroked his cheek
with her hand--the golden light from the great cloud filled the room and
touched the white vases with its colour.
"But quick, quick--tell me. There are so many things and there is so little
time. I want to know everything--your school? Here when you were
little?--all of it--"
But he was gripping the bed with his hands, his chest was heaving. Suddenly
he broke down and burying his head in the bed-clothes began to sob as
though his heart would break. "Oh! now ... after all this time ... you've
wanted me ... and I never came ... and now to find you like this!"
She stroked his hair very softly and waited until the sobs ceased.
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